


where the lovelight gleams

by mercutionotromeo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cuddling, Fluff, Light-Hearted, M/M, Photographer Harry, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 22:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13109889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutionotromeo/pseuds/mercutionotromeo
Summary: The Reykjavik airport is the last place Harry Styles expects to find himself on Christmas Eve. And yet, at 4 PM on the evening of December 24th, that’s exactly where he is.As it stands, he should be home with his family right now, making mince pies and singing too loudly to Mariah’s Christmas album. Instead, he’s standing just outside of baggage claim, staring at the three feet of snow piled against the glass windows of the airport.Or: a snowed-in Harry meets the perfect stranger in Louis on Christmas Eve.





	where the lovelight gleams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [backtohaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/backtohaz/gifts).



> Prompt: Youtuber AU! Vlogmas! Cute fluffy fic, established relationship. Feel free to include other youtubers!
> 
> Thanks for clicking on my fic! This was a pinch hit - I deviated a bit from the prompt, as I couldn't help but throw some pining in there so the relationship's not already established, but hopefully you like it anyway! I'm a little rusty and haven't written in a while, but I'm decently proud of this fluffy little work. Enjoy and happy holidays! :-)
> 
> title: I'll Be Home For Christmas

The Reykjavik airport is the last place Harry Styles expects to find himself on Christmas Eve. And yet, at 4 PM on the evening of December 24th, that’s exactly where he is.

He’s on the way back from an amazing job in New York - he’s just shot his first big magazine cover. It had been for Cat Fancy, sure, but it’s honestly a bit of a shock that he booked it in the first place. Granted, it’s not _that_ high profile - it’s not like it's Vogue or anything - but for a 24-year-old film school dropout, Harry’s doing pretty well for himself. Besides, he lost the right to be choosy with work a long time ago.

As it stands, he _should_ be tipsy at home with his family right now, making mince pies and singing too loudly to Mariah’s Christmas album. Instead, he’s standing just outside of baggage claim, staring at the three feet of snow piled against the glass windows of the airport. Thankfully, it doesn’t take him long to find his bag, the light pink hue standing out against a sea of black suitcases.

He shifts his camera bag on his shoulder and tries to get in line at Pret A Manger, but not even the thought of a steaming cup of coffee is enough to motivate him to wait among a horde of angry passengers and disgruntled employees. Digging in his bag, he finds an old packet of dried mango and calmly eats the sugary slices as he explores the airport.

It’s not like flights are leaving anytime soon - they’d have to shovel the bloody runway to even _drive_ out - so he figures exploring is the next best thing. “Hello?” He calls curiously once he reaches the furthermost gate. It’s totally empty; the lights are even a bit darkened here. It’s the perfect place to film, even if the lighting is a bit dodgy.

No matter how long he’s been doing this, no matter how many subscribers he amasses, it’s still awkward to vlog in public. Still, he pulls out his camera, composes himself, and presses the familiar silver button.

“Hiii,” He starts, addressing the camera, but he can’t help but sigh in the middle of it. “Sorry. Just a bit annoyed right now. As you can see —“ He continues, whirling around and holding his camera aloft. “I’m stuck in an airport in bloody _Iceland_. I think I last filmed in New York, just before I boarded so, ummm....” He sighs again.

“The flight went well, but there’s been a rather unexpected weather incident.” He points the camera toward the window, zooming slowly in on the powdery snow outside. “A fucking blizzard.” He turns the camera back to himself. “I might be stuck here _forever_ , I don’t even know,” He sighs dramatically. He starts to spin around again, at first just trying to film the rest of the gate so his audience can get an idea of where he is, but he ends up shutting his eyes and grinning a little at how weirdly freeing it feels to twirl around in an empty airport gate.

He’s cut off abruptly when he bumps into something firm that shrieks, “Ouch!” A baby’s cry start to ring through the air a moment later.

Harry quickly shuts his camera off, cheeks already heating up, and turns to face the offending object. That object happens to be a man. Not just any man, though. He’s the most beautiful man Harry’s seen all fucking year - maybe _ever._  He stares slack-jawed at his feathery brown hair and golden tan skin for a minute before he registers the man is rubbing his head and rushes to see what’s wrong.

“Shit - I’m sorry, mate, I didn’t even see you there."

“It’s fine,” the man grumbles, but it sounds like it’s not really fine. “Just trying to do my job.”

Harry’s immediately overwhelmed with a surge of guilt; the man’s wearing the same blue waistcoat, red tie, and navy slacks that all of the other employees have - he obviously works at the airport and is probably not having the best day. For god’s sake, there’s an epic blizzard outside, and here Harry is, filming himself _twirling_ while the employees are working tirelessly to keep everything together.

“Sorry,” Harry says again, more apologetic and sincere this time.

“S’alright, no harm done. Was just trying to find a quiet place for this little one - she’s been fussy all night, and I finally got her to sleep. Didn’t want to risk waking her, but I guess that doesn't matter now.”

The man smiles, but he looks overworked and tired, and the baby's crying is only making him more frazzled. He turns his attention toward what he's holding in his arms. Harry leans forward, intrigued. Sure enough, the man is holding a tiny pink bundle of blankets in his arms, and he’s rocking and soothing her as she cries. Harry squints at the man’s golden name tag; it reads “Louis” in delicate script, and underneath it is “unaccompanied minors”.

“Unaccompanied minors?” Harry asks, puzzled.

“Observant,” Louis murmurs, cracking a grin. “Unaccompanied minors are kids who’re traveling without their parents,” He answers without looking up from the baby in his arms. “I’m Louis by the way. Just in case you didn’t read that part. And you are?”

“Harry,” Harry says back, stomach doing an excited flip.

It’s quiet for a minute. Harry watches Louis bounce and rock the sobbing baby for a few moments. He decides he’d sort of be content to watch this forever, but Louis appears to be getting more frantic when the baby only cries harder.

“Who’s the little one, then?” Harry finally asks, sort of sad that he has to break the relative silence, but hoping he can help.

“Olivia,” Louis says over her wails. “She’s not unaccompanied, of course - her mums are dealing with paperwork at the ticket counter, and she was having a right fit, so I offered to hold her for a while.” He glances from his arms to Harry, and it must be obvious that Harry’s in awe of both the baby and Louis. “Wanna have a go?”

Harry’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah, of course! I love babies. I’m usually really good with them.”

Harry barely realizes he’s holding his breath as Louis hands her over, the familiar weight settling into his arms. It’s like magic; less than thirty seconds later, Olivia goes from sobbing at an ear splitting volume, to falling fast asleep as Harry murmurs softly to her.

“Whoa,” Louis breathes, clearly impressed.

“It’s been ages since I’ve done this,” Harry mumbles, voice unconsciously dropping to a whisper. “Not since my little cousins were born.”

Olivia is already dead asleep - she doesn’t even rouse when Harry shifts her in his arms.

“She’s an angel, isn’t she?” He whispers, staring down at her little face.

“Yeah, now that she's not screaming," Louis says, but a warm smile spreads across his face. "Her mums think she's an angel, too.”

Harry mentally pinches himself, trying to figure out if this is a dream or real life. He’s holding a baby _,_ talking to a gorgeous, sweet boy, while snow falls outside. He couldn’t craft a more perfect situation if he tried - unless all of this was occurring at a locale other than the Reykjavik Airport, that is.

Louis looks over his shoulder, probably wondering if there’s somewhere else he should be, but he seems to decide that standing here talking to Harry is preferable to work.

“So what were you filming? When you so rudely bumped into me and little Olive?” He cracks the most beautiful, radiant grin, and Harry’s heart melts in his chest.  He’s used to discussions about this part of his work being awkward - it’s rather unconventional after all - but for some reason, he feels extra self conscious today.

“Well,” He starts, bouncing Olivia a little as she yawns and resettles in his arms. “I’m mostly a photographer. But I also vlog on the side - YouTube, yknow. That’s what I was doing, though I'm afraid you caught me twirling.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, looking vaguely impressed. “A photog, eh? What kinds of things do you take pictures of?”

Harry smiles a little to himself, watching as Olivia wraps her little hand around the tip of his finger.

“Cats, as of late. Lots and _lots_ of cats.” A bright, happy laughter rings through the gate as Louis giggles next to him.

“Cats?”

“Cats,” Harry confirms. “Just shot a cover for _Cat Fancy_ , actually - out in New York.”

Louis folds his arms, leaning against the wall. “You far from home then?”

Harry shakes his head, holding Olivia closer as a cold breeze whistles through the gate. “I live in London. So close, yet so far.”

Louis cocks his head curiously to the side. “Mm. I live in London most of the year, too. Got transferred up here for the holiday season. Lots of unaccompanied minors come through Iceland, oddly enough.”

Olivia yawns and starts to wake in Harry’s arms, fussing and crying a little. Louis rushes forward to gently take her from Harry, bouncing her and cooing at her.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to give you my whole life’s story.”

"S'okay. I gave you a bit of mine, too," Harry concedes, grinning. 

"I should really get back to work - bit of a crazy day. Best of luck with getting on a plane soon!" Louis tells him, clearly slipping back into his "customer service" voice.

He starts to walk away, then stops and turns back. “Thanks for taking a turn with her - I owe you one.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving Harry with a pleasantly warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

Roughly two hours later, Harry’s beyond bored. He can only film so many time lapses of the same crowd before he needs more stimulating entertainment. Cup of lukewarm black coffee in hand, he actually looks for Louis for a little while, but his search proves to be hopeless. There’s far too many employees in the same uniform, all rushing around and looking stressed and tired. The last thing Harry wants to do is make anybody's day harder than it already is.

He gives in and trudges back to his staked-out area at the front of gate B28, plopping down in the same hard plastic chair he’s been sitting in for hours. As she’s been doing periodically for the duration of the day, the manager of the airport climbs atop a table and shouts that progress is still slow, but they’ll have everyone on a flight as soon as possible. One look out the window at the growing piles of snow, however, tells Harry that “soon” really means “not soon at all”.

He’s long since called his mum and explained the delay, but that doesn’t change the fact that Harry’s going to be stuck in Iceland until further notice. It had been fun at first, exploring the empty terminals, but it's devolved into mind-numbing boredom. 

He’d vlogged through the delay to keep himself busy, and he’d filmed videos for his main channel until he ran out of ideas - first an airport style lookbook against the, ahem, minimalist backdrop of gate B28, followed by a chatty life update video recapping the trials and tribulations of the _many_ feisty tomcats at the Cat Fancy shoot. He even films a lengthy review of Love Actually from memory, but he starts to tear up when he gets to the “to me, you are perfect” scene and has to stop.

Before he knows it, it’s almost 9 PM - the delay’s been going for close to five hours, and there’s no sign of the winter weather slowing down outside. Sure enough, the manager climbs back onto the table and delivers the unfortunate news.

“I’m sorry to say that we’ll have to recommend that you all spend the night here in the airport. There’s complimentary tea and coffee near gate A19, and we’ll pass around blankets and pillows as we find them.”

She trails on, but Harry is already leaning back in his chair and pulling the brim of his fedora down over his eyes. Maybe when he wakes up, Iceland will be dotted with palm trees and cacti instead of snow and ice. 

* * *

He wakes with a start some time later, registering the sound of crinkling plastic next to him. He confusedly blinks and sits up groggily. The airport’s dark, and the sky outside is pitch black; he’s surrounded by sleeping forms. It must be quite late. Rubbing his eyes, he yawns and turns his attention in the direction of the crinkling. Standing next to him and looking apologetic is Louis, the sweet stranger from earlier. Harry’s heart does a happy flip in his chest.

“Hi,” Louis whispers, fumbling with the object he’s holding. It’s a thin blue blanket, wrapped in a layer of plastic - Louis had clearly been trying to open it for him. “Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. I saw you without a blanket and I thought you might be cold.”

Harry sits up straighter, a grin spreading slowly on his face. “Surviving the blizzard I gather?” He asks, voice still thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” Louis says, and his voice is so soft and gentle in the silence. “I’m actually off the clock. My shift ended at midnight.” He glances apologetically over his shoulder, probably anxious to leave.

“It’s dangerous to drive, isn’t it?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “My place is right across the street, actually - I can walk there. It shows that I'm a bit of a workaholic, I know…” He trails off, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was actually, um…”

Harry quirks an eyebrow.

“Look, I know it’s weird, and I know I don’t know you, really, but I told you earlier that I owe you one for helping me with the baby, so... If you want a place to sleep in tonight, you can come to mine.” He tips his head in what must be the direction of his home. “Like I said, I’m right across the street.”

Harry blinks up at him, equal parts surprised and nervous and oddly excited. “You don’t have to do that.”

Louis dismissively waves his hand. “Nonsense. You don’t want to sleep on the floor of an airport anyway.” He leans in closer, a grin playing at his lips. “Trust me, I’ve done it far too many times - it’s murder on the back. You always spend the whole next day trying to walk.”

So that’s how Harry Styles ends up trudging through knee-deep snow in his heeled Chelsea boots, tugging his faux fur jacket closer to his body to stay warm. He nearly slips down the steps, but Louis grabs his arm to keep him from falling. That alone ends up being enough to keep him warm until they get to the 8th floor of Louis’ apartment building.

“805,” Louis mumbles, digging in his pocket for his keys. “That’s me.”

The door swings open to reveal a tiny but quaint studio apartment, darkened and cozy and warm. Louis flicks the lights on and gratefully stomps the snow off of his boots. Harry steps cautiously through the door, shaking snowflakes out of his curls.

“I’ll have the kettle on in a moment,” Louis calls as he hurries toward the kitchen. “You can just leave your coat on the hook by the door!”

Harry does as he’s told, kicking his boots toward the endearing doormat that reads “happy days” in black cursive lettering. The sounds of Louis putting the tea on drift from the kitchen as Harry makes his way through the apartment. The walls are wood-paneled, and most of the furniture in the apartment is old, but it’s still so homey and cozy.

The twist of patchwork quilts and multicolored fuzzy blankets on the bed is far more endearing than it should be - as is the string of fairy lights hanging above it. Louis has clearly decorated his flat for the holidays, which is even more endearing. The folding table in the makeshift dining area is spread with a snowflake-print tablecloth and matching place mats; the loveseat in the middle of the room has two red and green striped cushions on it, and a little Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner.

Harry stops short of the tree, entranced by a photo hanging on the wall. It’s a much younger Louis, standing next to a beautiful woman with kind eyes. She must be his mum.

“Breakfast tea okay?” Louis asks, and Harry turns to find him leaning casually against the kitchen counter, practically looking like one of the models he shoots. His waistcoat is unbuttoned, and his tie is casually loosened - he looks, like, _devastatingly_ gorgeous, even though he's just worked what was probably one of the most stressful days of the whole year.

“Er - yeah,” Harry scrambles to answer, trying to act less distracted than he feels. “Anything you have is fine. Anything at all.” Smooth, Harry. _Really_ smooth.

“Breakfast tea it is,” Louis tells him brightly. He returns to the sofa a minute later with two mugs of tea and a dish of biscuits. “Internet’s probably out with the blizzard, so no Netflix unfortunately,” He grumbles, settling back against the cushions and taking a sip of his tea. “I mean... I dunno if you’d _want_ to, but I have a massive library of old black and white films. Stuff from the 50's mostly. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea - I promise I won't be mad if you say no.”

Harry lights up - he has to physically restrain himself from saying, “Where have you been all my life, you perfect, beautiful stranger?”

Instead, he just nods eagerly. “Louis, that’s so -- that’s perfect. I used to be a film student, I’d love that.” He grins a little. “Do you have Woman In A Dressing Gown? Came out in ‘57?” Louis doesn’t even respond, just beams as he pulls up the exact film Harry’s suggested.

* * *

Harry’s yawning by the time the movie is over; he hasn’t had a proper sleep in what feels like ages - must’ve been back in New York, and even that was marred by jet lag and nervous excitement prior to the shoot. Louis is probably just as tired too - he likely spent the whole morning dealing with frightened little kids just trying to get home for Christmas.

“Me, too,” He sighs as Harry yawns again, rubbing his eye in the most endearing way. He sits up a little and points toward the opposite corner of the flat. “Here - the bathroom’s over by the kitchen - you can’t miss it, it’s the only separate room in the whole place.” Louis leans forward to close out of the end credits of the movie and shut down his laptop. “You can change into your pajamas in there. Good thing we were able to get all the baggage in, yeah? I think _my_ pajamas would be a bit short on you.”

A few minutes later, Harry stares at his face in the mirror, poking at the dark circles under his eyes. His skin’s definitely had better days, and he doesn’t even want to _think_ about how much he should shower. Guilt starts to creep in. He knows he should’ve filmed more today; it won’t even be enough footage to justify a separate video, and his audience won’t be patient - they never are.

He starts to think about ways to let them down easier - maybe he could post more main channel videos again? Maybe he could fulfill more viewer requests - start a weekly livestream even? But in the end, he decides not to worry about it. Exhaustion is clawing at his bones, begging his body to sleep; he’s been awake for almost 24 straight hours - he desperately needs to rest. He makes a mental note to use Louis’ shower in the morning, no matter how much he oversleeps.

 _“In the morning”_ \- his heart skips a beat when he remembers that he’s staying the night _here_ with _Louis_ \- with this beautiful, sweet stranger that he would’ve never expected to meet in Iceland, of all places. He tries to distract his mind somewhere else as he thoroughly brushes his teeth, then tugs on his silky lavender pajama bottoms and a grey t-shirt, but it’s useless. He keeps thinking about Louis, just sitting on the sofa and being such a nice and kind person; it's making Harry’s heart melt in his chest for what must be the thousandth time tonight.

He pulls himself together as much as he can and opens the bathroom door, only to completely fall apart again. Louis is standing in the middle of the room, holding a jumper in one hand. He’s focused on the TV, watching some news story about the West End, but Harry is lost in the golden planes of his back. His shoulders are pretty - like, holy fuck, Harry’s never called _anyone’s_ shoulders pretty, and yet Louis’ are. His neck is pretty, too, and so is his slight tummy.

Instead of melting into the floor like he _wants_ to, however, Harry calmly sets his bag on the kitchen counter and walks back to the couch.

“I like your place.”

Louis rolls his eyes good-naturedly, pulling the jumper over his head and tugging a dressing gown on top of it. “You don’t have to say that, Harry. I know it’s not gonna be in a Pottery Barn catalog anytime soon.”

“No, no, no!” Harry gets out in one breath. “It’s lovely. I mean it. It… feels like it's a home, y'know?”

Louis stops and regards him with seriousness this time, a pleased grin playing at his lips. “I… Thank you. That’s sweet of you to say.”

“Sweet of you to let me stay here,” Harry points out, and Louis blushes a shade darker than normal.

“It’s nothing, I'm happy to offer. Anyway, um - it’s getting past 2 now. Don’t want you to miss your flight back to London, yeah?” He hops up from the sofa, almost like he’s nervous around Harry, even though that’s impossible because Harry’s far too uncool for people like Louis to get nervous around him.

He expects Louis to bring him a blanket for the loveseat or something, but to his surprise, Louis shrugs and gestures apologetically to his bed.

“I’d tell you to sleep on the loveseat, but I don’t really think you’d fit.” He scratches the back of his neck, smiling wryly. “And it gets ridiculously cold in here at night.”

With that, he tugs his dressing gown off and drapes it over a kitchen chair before sliding into bed, pulling the covers over himself. Harry tries to keep outwardly calm as he climbs into bed next to him, but his heart is beating like crazy after his elbow crazes Louis’ under the thick flannel sheets. The bed’s rather small, so they’re practically pressed against each other once they’re both under the blankets.

Nervous butterflies flutter in Harry's chest; he hasn’t had them for a long time.

It’s like when he kissed a boy for the first time, or like when he told his last serious boyfriend that he loved him. The constant, steady warmth of Louis next to him is comforting and exciting all at once; Harry sort of wants to watch the glow of the fairy lights dance across his face, but he realizes that that’s probably a bit creepy and forces himself to lie down and close his eyes instead. Sleep doesn’t come easily, but it eventually overtakes him. The last thing he thinks about before he drifts off to sleep is how much he’d like to watch many, many more black and white films with Louis.

* * *

 

A few hours later, Harry wakes up shivering. He’s pressed himself against the wall in his sleep - he's, like, a foot away from Louis - and he's kicked off the blankets in the night. He blinks over at Louis, at how peaceful and sweet he looks while he sleeps. Harry doesn’t even think twice before he cuddles closer to him, shyly nuzzling against his shoulder as he drifts back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Ended on a bit of a cliff-hanger, but I think we all know how these two lovebirds end up. Might add more to this 'verse in the future, it was really fun to write these characters. Hope you enjoyed this one! Happy holidays! :-)


End file.
